DethFrosting
by knockoutmouse
Summary: Pickles talks Nathan into helping him bake a cake. With frosting. Things get interesting. N/P slash. Contains sex, profanity, brief mention of drug use.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, etc, etc.

**A/N:** This is my first time, so apologies if they're a little OOC. Also, I tried to write Pickles's speech with his accent, but being from the Lakes region myself, it's a little weird to alter the spelling on things to make them sound...well, the same as they already do, at least to me. So, yeah, I tried. Please be gentle.

How had Nathan ever let himself be talked into this? Baking a cake was so not metal. Even if, as Pickles had pointed out, it was red velvet cake, which had turned into a nice crimson color like blood once they had prepared the mix. (Cake mixes were also not metal, but baking from scratch was even less so.)

Still, as Pickles had also suggested, it was one of your more brutal types of cake, and would be just the thing to surprise Murderface for his birthday this year. Nathan had reluctantly agreed, not wanting to experience another of the bassist's hissy fits like last year's (although labeling it a hissy fit in front of said bassist would probably result in a need for stitches.) Now, though, they'd taken the thing out of the oven and had the hazy notion that something further needed to be done.

"Frahsting," said Pickles suddenly. "We need frahsting."

"I, uh, don't think there is any."

"We could make some. There's a cookbook in the cupboard." Pickles held out a large volume that someone must have placed in their kitchen on the off chance that one of the band members might ever want to actually prepare his own food. Nathan took it suspiciously.

"Good Housekeeping?" he read. "Definitely not metal. Sounds like a chick thing."

"Can't go wrong with Good Housekeeping, dood," said Pickles. "'s what my mahm always used."

"I guess it doesn't look too hard," Nathan conceded, flipping through the pages until he found the desserts. "Do we have all this stuff?"

"Looks like it." The drummer rummaged in the cupboards, standing on his toes to get a bag of powdered sugar down from the top shelf.

Five minutes later, the counter, floor, and cake were liberally smeared with white frosting, although the two musicians were miraculously clean. Almost.

"Who'd have thought it'd be so hard to frost a fucking cake?" muttered Nathan, looking down at the sticky, crumb-streaked mess in the pan in front of them.

Pickles found himself giggling.

"What?" growled Nathan.

"Dood, yah've got frahsting on yer nose."

Nathan scowled and wiped it away roughly, but left a streak of it across his cheekbone.

Pickles stared for a moment, swallowing hard. It wasn't as if he'd had any ulterior motive in luring—not _luring_, damn it, _inviting_ the dark-haired singer into the kitchen tonight. Alone. At one in the morning. At least that's what he tried to tell himself.

"_What?_" said Nathan again, plaintively. He didn't know what was going on when Pickles leaned in toward him, but then his brain completely froze up as the redhead licked away the frosting from his face.

_What the hell are you doing?_ was what he meant to ask, but what actually came out was "Unhhh."

Pickles ran his tongue across his cheek again, removing the last traces of frosting. Nathan noticed vaguely that Pickles's hand was now resting on his shoulder, and rather less vaguely that he suddenly had a throbbing erection.

"Uh, Pickles, I—" He was silenced when Pickles lifted his left hand and licked the frosting from his palm. He felt his spine melt, and Pickle's fingertips lightly running along his jaw.

Wait, wait, wait. This should not be happening. He was _Nathan motherfucking Explosion_, and he was not supposed to be going all swoony like a sixteen-year-old girl. Besides, he had always figured if he got with another dude, he'd be the one in charge. Not that he'd had more than fleeting thoughts on the subject, and it wasn't as if—

_Warm. Wet. Oh God. _Pickles was sucking on one of his fingers, but now he pulled away and raised a pierced eyebrow at him.

"Oh dear Lord, Pickles—"

"Shh."

Then Pickles kissed him. His mind was a muddle of thoughts—how dare Pickles kiss him, _Nathan Explosion_—that sure as hell took a lot of balls- oh shit don't think about balls right now—and Pickles's hip was pressed against his erection—and damn, it felt good. As Pickles licked lightly over his lower lip, Nathan gasped and let Pickles force his tongue into his mouth.

Whoa. This was so different from kissing a woman. Women just kind of _let_ you kiss them. This was better. There was more contact, for one thing. More force. And—oh God—he was letting Pickles take control. Pickles ran his fingers through Nathan's coarse black hair as he forced his head back so he could kiss him deeper.

He felt Nathan clutch at his shirt, if "clutching" meant "grabbing hard enough that the seams begin to split."

"Hey, calm down, Nat'en," he said, pulling back. "Ya don't gotta rip my clothes off."

"But I, uh, want to," said Nathan, suddenly finding his voice.

"Hang on, hang on," he laughed, and took off his shirt. "Uh, Nat'an, ya think we should maybe go someplace more private?"

"I—uh—yeah." Nathan didn't, as a matter of fact—the thought of having Pickles over the edge of the kitchen counter had a certain appeal—but the thought of getting walked in on by Murderface or Toki looking for a midnight snack definitely didn't.

He started down the hallway after the drummer, who walked much too slowly for his liking. Nathan was _not_ a patient person.

As if reading his mind, Pickles stopped and pulled him into a corner, pressing him against the stone wall and kissing him again, one hand moving slowly down his chest and abs until his fingertips played along the waistband of his jeans, sliding just a few centimeters beneath the denim to sweep along his sensitive skin.

"Oh Lord," he moaned. "Pickles, I want you now."

Pickles grinned. "Just hold yer horses. We'll get there."

He disentangled himself from Nathan and took him by the wrist, leading him along the hall at a faster pace than before; they reached Pickles's room quickly, although still not quickly enough for the singer.

Pickles locked the door and pushed Nathan onto the edge of the bed, climbed into his lap, and kissed him again.

"Mmmhh." said Nathan as he ran his hands down Pickles's back to rest on his slender hips. On second thought, he moved one back up. His skin was surprisingly soft. And pale. So of course after Nathan had caressed him gently for a moment, he just had to dig in his fingernails and rake them down his back, marking him.

"Hey, what—" began Pickles, then grinned. "Oh, dood, yer inta _that_?"

"Huh?" said Nathan, but before he could formulate a question, Pickles had both hands under his shirt and clawed at his back, hard, while kissing him viciously. The only thing Nathan could do was to moan against his mouth, one hand finding its way into the red dreadlocks, the other to the small of his back.

Pickles broke away from him, panting heavily, leaving Nathan dazed.

"Ya like that?" he asked.

"I...yeah. Yeah. Why'd you stop?"

Without answering, Pickles slid off his lap and stood. Nathan was disappointed, but his disappointment was short-lived once Pickles began to undress. It then occurred to Nathan that he himself was still fully clothed. He kicked off his boots and removed his shirt, then started to undo his pants when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Did I say ya could get undressed yet?" Pickles asked, his voice a teasing purr. He had stripped down to his underwear.

Nathan opened his mouth to protest, then changed his mind. So it was going to be like that. Could be interesting. He sat back down on the bed.

"Good," said Pickles, and laid a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back until he was lying down, then straddled his hips again, leaning over, letting his dreads hang down into Nathan's face. And he did absolutely nothing.

"Uhh..." said Nathan finally with a questioning glance up at him.

"Ya gotta ask me for what ya want."

Oh, damn. He was never good at this even with chicks. And now he had a guy making him ask for it?

"Uh...kiss me."

"I said _ask_. And ya gotta ask nice. Say please."

"Kiss me...please?" he mumbled.

"That's better."

Pickles leaned further forward, pinned his wrists to the bed—not that he really could have if Nathan hadn't let him—and kissed him until he could barely breathe. Then, as Nathan was gasping for air, Pickles lowered his head and kissed Nathan's neck, quickly switching from kissing to biting and sucking. Nathan growled, deep and throaty, like some kind of big cat. Pickles moved down to his shoulder, kissed along his collarbone and down his chest, tongue flicking across one of his nipples as he shifted so that one thigh was between Nathan's legs, pressing against his groin.

Pickles kept going, enjoying Nathan's reaction, until his neck and chest were thoroughly marred by bruises.

"Oh God...let me—let me touch you," said Nathan, quickly adding, "Please."

"Not yet."

"Pleeease," he growled. "Let me do _something_."

"Aw, okay," Pickles agreed, and released Nathan's wrists. Nathan's first thought was to flip him over and have his way with him, but Pickles's hand now rubbing hard at his erect cock through his jeans caused him to reconsider, and he settled for roughly grabbing the drummer's ass.

Pickles gave a soft moan as Nathan's fingers felt for his entrance through the thin cloth.

"Yeah, you, uh, like that, don't you? I bet you want me inside you," he murmured, only to have Pickles smack his hand away. "What's that about?" he growled, eyes narrowing. "I said please."

"I didn't say to tell me what _I_ want," said Pickles before leaning in and kissing him again, then lightly biting his earlobe.

"Goddamnit," he said, though not very vehemently, as Pickles had begun grinding his own erection against him now.

"What ya thinkin' now, Nate?"

"I—uh—can I tell you I want to fuck you, please?" he said awkwardly, not wanting Pickles to stop.

Pickles laughed. "Yeah, I guess so, dood. How 'bout tellin' me more? How ya wanna do it?"

"I, uh, I want to, uh, put my dick in your ass," he said rather unimaginatively.

"I meant besides that. Tell me about it real nice, and I might even let ya do it," said Pickles, the motion and pressure from his hand ceasing. He was only teasing—God only knew how much he wanted this—but Nathan didn't know, so Pickles did his best to put on a stern expression.

"Oh, come _on_—you can't just not do anything now that—you know."

"Don't think that line's gonna work on me, chief."

"Pickles—" Nathan weighed for a moment the probable success of offering a mild threat, but knew that the drummer would probably walk if he did. Nathan found himself wondering just who or what had happened before to make Pickles such a tease. But this wasn't the time to think about anything heavy like that.

Then he had an idea. Maybe the redhead wasn't getting what he wanted. Maybe the game wasn't to say what he wanted to do, but what he wanted done to him.

"Would you, um. Touch me. Please."

"Where at?"

"My...uh...my cock. Please." This was so fucking embarrassing. He didn't think he liked this game very much.

Pickles grinned, stood up again, and began taking off Nathan's pants. That was better. The singer relaxed now, hands beneath his head, eyes closed, as the smaller man's hand curled around his erect penis, stroking faster than Nathan had expected, from the way he'd been teasing before. The drummer had delicate hands. If he'd wanted, he could have kept his eyes closed and pretended it was a woman jacking him off, but he didn't want to.

He hadn't seen Pickles moving lower, settling onto his knees. It was only when he felt a brief touch of tongue against the head of his cock that his eyes flew open and he sat up quickly.

The drummer paused and raised an eyebrow at him again, conveying _Is this okay?_

Nathan nodded. "More," he growled. "I want more." Pickles obliged, taking his whole head into his mouth, doing some absolutely maddening thing with his tongue again, making Nathan moan loudly. It was obvious that the redhead knew what he was doing, but Nathan wasn't going to question it. After a moment, he took the frontman in further, at least as much as he could, moving slowly up and down on Nathan's thick cock, his tongue darting lazily over the tip.

"Mmh...yeah...fuck...yeah, faster," he panted.

Of course, Pickles took that as his cue to stop. Nathan cursed profusely, taking no notice of Pickles searching for something under the bed until the drummer came back up and pressed a bottle of lube into his hand.

"Oh," said Nathan.

"Thought that'd shut ya up," said Pickles cheerfully.

"Mmh," he said again, this time as a sound of reluctant acknowledgement. He reached out and pulled down the smaller man's boxers, then burst out laughing.

"What's so fuckin' funny, dood?" asked Pickles, his eyes narrowing.

Nathan shook his head. "Uh. Nothing, nothing."

"What, ya think I'm small or somethin'? I mean compared to you, maybe, but hell, that's like comparin'—"

"No, that's not it," Nathan assured him, still trying to hide his smile. Smiling, after all, wasn't metal.

"Then what?"

"Just never thought about, uh, you know, you being a firecrotch."

Pickles, to Nathan's great astonishment, began to blush a little. "Well, yeah, dood, I mean, look at my hair," he said, tossing his dreadlocks over his shoulder. "What'd ya expect?"

Nathan decided to hell with asking for what he wanted, and pulled Pickles down onto the bed with him.

"Shh," he said when the smaller man protested, and poured some lube onto his fingers. He stroked gently around the drummer's entrance, waiting for him to relax, then slipped one finger slowly inside him. Pickles winced but didn't say anything. Nathan pulled him closer, kissing his shoulder and neck. "I want you on top of me," he whispered, fingering him a little harder. "That something you can do for me?"

Pickles nodded, moaning a little. The dark-haired man added another finger. "I want to fuck you hard. You think you'd like that?"

Pickles broke away from the kiss, grimacing in pain. Nathan stopped moving and put an arm around his shoulders. "It's okay," he said, hesitating, and then giving Pickles an awkward kiss on the forehead. Pickles made a small sound of appreciation, so Nathan kissed down his cheek and rubbed his shoulders lightly, pulling him in close. Pickles rested his head against Nathan's chest, taking in his scent of sweat and spice, and it was vaguely comforting. He kissed Nathan's shoulder, and after a moment, Nathan felt the drummer begin to move against his hand again, his breath hot against Nathan's skin.

Nathan moved his other hand down and began to stroke the drummer's cock, eliciting another gasp from him.

"Mmmhh...God, Nate, come on, fuck me already."

"Now? Are you sure?" he asked, not wanting to hurt him again.

"Nah, you gotta wait til the invite gets back from the fuckin' engravers'," said Pickles sarcastically.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Yeah, I mean now."

"Oh. Uh, okay. Here," said Nathan, moving aside some blankets and easing the smaller man down onto his back. He slid his fingers out, poured some more lube into his hand, applied it quickly to his own member, and positioned himself over Pickles, hesitating again despite the drummer's previous demands.

"Come on, Nate, I want ya inside me, like ya said," he whispered.

Nathan lowered himself and pushed inside Pickles, slowing down once the head of his cock was all the way in, but not stopping until his entire length was inside the redhead. He began to thrust gently, slowly, not pulling out very much.

"God, come on, Nat'an, give it to me," Pickles moaned, his arms coming up to close around the frontman's waist.

"Hang on," he murmured, sliding his hands beneath Pickles's hips and gently, carefully lifted him and shifted his own position until the drummer was on top and he himself was half-leaning, half-sitting against the headboard. "There," he said, moving another pillow behind his back.

His hands went to Pickles's hips as he raised and lowered himself slowly on Nathan's large cock. "C'mon, faster," he said, his fingers gripping Pickles's ass harder and pulling him forcefully into a faster rhythm. Pickles grunted and tried to keep up, not wanting to just be used as the singer's fucktoy, although at the same time turned on by the idea. Soon, though, Nathan slowed, shifting his angle again, and instead of moving Pickles himself, thrust up into him.

The drummer threw his head back and cried out.

Nathan froze. "Did I—am I hurting you?"

Pickles shook his head. "No," he said breathlessly, "'s just where I want ya. Keep goin'."

Taking a deep breath, Nathan began thrusting again, pounding harder and harder into the redhead, one hand moving from his hip to his cock to stroke him roughly as he felt the familiar tightening of his own abdominal muscles.

"Nghh...fuck, Nate, harder."

The frontman obliged without hesitation, though he doubted that he could last much longer. It wasn't necessary, though, because in a moment he felt the heat of the other man's semen dripping over his hand. Nathan let himself go and slammed into Pickles a few more times before he came so hard that he too cried out, the black-painted nails of his left hand digging involuntarily into the pale flesh of his drummer's back.

He collapsed, panting. Pickles gently lifted himself off Nathan and rolled over to lie next to him. He found one of the pillows that had been thrown to the floor and picked it up, lifting Nathan's head slightly to slide it underneath and brushing a stray lock of hair from the singer's face.

"Well?" asked Pickles, lying back next to Nathan and lighting a joint that he'd conveniently found next to his lighter on the nightstand.

"That was, uh, pretty damn brutal," Nathan admitted. "Maybe we could—do it again sometime?"

"Sure thing, chief."


End file.
